


Death Looks Good on You

by SpoopyNoodles



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Ghostface - Fandom, Horror - Fandom, Scream (Movies), Scream (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Horror, Kidnapping, Multi, Nudity, Sexual Content, Suspense, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23431909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpoopyNoodles/pseuds/SpoopyNoodles
Summary: Just when you think life can't get any worse, you start getting stalked by a creepy serial killer.
Relationships: Ghostface (Scream)/Reader
Comments: 25
Kudos: 195





	1. Chapter 1

This had to have been the worst week of your entire life. The company you worked for was officially out of business so you were out of a job. No income was not something you were used to and the idea that you weren’t sure how quickly you could find a new job was setting panic up at the corners of your mind. Not to mention that your partner of four years disappeared last week. No clue where they went to or ended up, just plain vanished off the face of the earth. The police were either suspicious of you, or they think your partner just left you. No matter how much you begged, pleaded, told them that they would never do that to you, the cops wouldn’t budge.  


You reached down and felt the water pouring into the tub. Nice and hot. Baths were always how you used to relax, maybe it would help you now. You couldn’t remember the last time you bathed. The stress from the last week or two have completely turned your brain into mush and all of the days were flowing into each other. The bath was almost ready so you slipped out of your clothes and left them on the floor with about three other day’s worth of clothing you hadn’t bothered to pick up yet. As you dipped your toes into the water you let out a slight hiss, the heat was just that right temperature that hurt just a bit, the kind that would make you feel like you were purging everything evil out of your body.  


You lowered yourself into the tub and placed your phone on the closed toilet seat next to you. Tapping the play button on the screen, music began to fill the bathroom as you settled into the tub completely. Heat rushed into your body and so did a wave of pain. Your heart clenched in your chest and you immediately started to sob. This kept happening. One minute you were fine, and the next everything crashed back into your head again and you couldn’t stop the tears. Probably grief, you figured. That seemed to be the correct emotion. Eventually you stop crying and you reach out to grab some shampoo when a wave of uselessness washes over you as well. What was the point in washing your hair? No one was here to caress it, and you weren’t going out anytime soon. You slunk back down, allowing your chin to rest below the water. Eventually, you just slide your whole head under the surface. The world got quiet and still. 

“Why not just stay under here forever?” You think, “I could just let go and never worry about anything ever again.”

It was a joke, but somewhere deep down, you actually considered it. No more pain or responsibilities. You wouldn’t have to worry about finding a new job, or the sighs coming from the other end of the phone when you call the police station for the hundredth time. 

A sharp sound jolted you out of your macabre daydream and you sat up out of the tub. Your phone was ringing. You hopped out of the tub and grabbed a towel. Glancing over at your phone, you desperately reached out to answer. Any call could be from them, apologizing, saying they got kidnapped or lost or had some kind of accident, anything. 

“Hello?” you say, panic in your voice.

“Hello.” 

The voice is kind of hard to make out, static and muffled. It’s a very deep male voice, not the one of your partner. You feel your body relax maybe it was the police station? 

“Yes, hello?” You ask again, “Can I help you?”

“I sure hope you can,” they respond. You wait for them to continue but they do not. 

“Well,” you say after waiting an akwardly long time, “what is it?”

“Am I speaking with Allison?”

The voice was so strange. They spoke in a weird, gravely voice and drew their sentences out as long as they could. 

“No, I’m sorry you have the wrong number.”

“Wait!” 

You heard the voice on the other end as you were pulling the phone away to press the end button. 

“What?” You ask as you bring the phone back to your ear.

“Forget Allison, tell me more about you.”

You grimace. Who the actual fuck talks like this? Does it really work for some people? The last thing in the world you wanted now was some random man hitting on you over the phone. 

“Sorry guy, not interested.”

You pressed the end button before he could respond and set your phone on the sink. With your towel in hand you meander into the bedroom, drying yourself off as you go. You click on the TV and the blue-ish light bathes over you. Your phone goes off again in the bathroom. You sigh. It’s probably just that weirdo again, but you can’t take that chance. It really could be your partner or the police station. You walk into the bathroom, grab it and walk back into the bedroom.

“Hello?”

“That wasn’t very nice, hanging up like that.”

You feel like you’re going to have a migraine.

“Seriously dude?” You ask, “Can you not take a hint? Maybe go hit on someone at a bar or something? Bugger off.”

“Oh come on, don’t be that way, I just wanna chat and I could use a friend.”

“Look man, I’ve been through a lot lately and I’m just not in the mood.”

“Well,” there was a slight chuckle, one that the hair on her neck prickle up, “You’ve got me in the mood. Especially the way your naked body looks in the light of your TV.”

Your heart becomes an ice brick and your eyes immediately lock on your window. The curtains were mostly closed but they were parted slightly in the middle, just allowing for a small viewpoint to outside. Throwing the towel around your body you rush to the window to close the curtains, but keep a small opening for your face. All you can see is darkness. Nothing in the view of the street lamps. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I scare you? Or have I finally got your attention?”

“What the fuck dude?” you gasp, “What do you want?”

Your head felt like a swirl of anger and confusion and embarrassment. Why the hell would someone be stalking you like this? And why now of all times to do it? 

“I told you, I just wanna chat. How about movies? Do you like scary movies?”

“Nope, not doing this. I’m going to call the police you perv,” you reply, “I’m so sick of shit happening to me and I have no patience for it.”

You hang up the line and call the police. Making sure your apartment is secure.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a few days since the incident. The police had come and promised to drive by at night at least once to scare off anyone who might still be lurking around. They assured you most of these creeps just call to get their jollies off and then go on to the next unsuspecting victim. Since they couldn’t catch you off guard, now they would surely move on. That what they told you and that’s what you kept telling yourself.  
There was still no luck on the job front and you were about to resign yourself to signing up for unemployment. The idea wasn’t a perfect one, but with no income and no partner to pay half of the bills, you were going to get evicted before you would find your next job. The sky outside was getting dark as you maneuvered the unemployment website, trying to fill in all of the boxes.  


You couldn’t help but shake the idea that someone was still watching you. Since that night you kept all of your window shades drawn up tight and almost never left the house. When you did leave you felt a strong sense of paranoia, like someone was just a few feet behind you. You didn’t leave the apartment much anymore.  


A buzzing sensation came from your pocket. Your phone was ringing. After everything that happened, you wish you could just throw your phone out the window, but you knew you couldn’t. The caller ID on your phone listed the local police station. You answered quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hey there, it’s me.”

It was Officer Little. He was an older officer that was mostly your correspondence for your missing partner’s case. 

“Officer Little,” you say, “Is anything, is there any news?”

“No,” he said, “Just wanted to check in on you after what happened the other night. Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” you sigh, “I just feel super paranoid now.”

“That’s a good thing,” he said, “keeps you on your toes, in case he decides to bother you again.” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Little was an older officer who always had a good demeanor. It made you feel just a little bit better, “I’d feel better if my partner was back though.”

You could hear Officer Little sigh on the other end. After all that’s happened, he was starting to feel the same way as the other officers. 

“I wouldn’t put too much stock in that,” He replied, “we’ve had no luck turning them up and at this point any search has been put on the back burner. I’m going to keep my ear to the ground though, don’t you worry.”

Your heart feels like a sunken ship again. It was bound to happen eventually, you can’t blame the police. After a certain amount of time, they just have to focus on bigger, more immediate threats and let some missing adult slip through the cracks.

“Thanks Officer Little,” you say. Your voice has lost all of it’s feeling. You can hear him trying to say something else to try to brighten you back up, but you’ve already moved the phone away and pressed the end button.

The bath. You should really try again. You didn’t actually wash anything last time so you still feel pretty grungy. Water drawn, clothes off, you step back into the tub. For a while you don’t really do anything but sit there, staring at the piles of clothes on the bathroom floor. 

“I should really get to those,” you say to no one, your mind feels numb and as empty as your apartment. As you’re about to submerge yourself your phone goes off again. Unknown number this time. You stare at it for a while, debating. What if it’s your partner calling? What if it’s that man?

Eventually, the phone stops and it looks like your decision was made. You submerge yourself under the water again, letting the world go silent. 

“I wonder if this is my new ritual,” you think to yourself, “contemplating drowning myself in the tub before I finally wash my hair.” 

You hear something bump the outside of your tub. Your eyes shoot open and through the surface of the water you see something. For a split second your brain feels like jelly. There shouldn’t be anyone in your apartment but you, but there is someone here. They’re wearing a strange mask. You shoot up out of the water, your brain finally clicking, but a hand comes down and wraps itself around your throat, pushing you back into the water. You start to kick and punch, but the figure pulls itself down on top of your body, straddling your waist and pinning your legs. Panic fills your entire being as your basic animal instincts take over. You lift one hand out of the water and swing it wildly at your attacker’s face. Your other hand is grasping at theirs wrapped around your throat, trying desperately to pry it off. Attempts to do this just seem to make them grasp your neck tighter. His other hand grabs yours as it flails through the air and for a moment he lifts you out from under the water. You come face to face with your attacker and plainly see the mask he’s wearing is one of those Ghostface masks. The moment above the water doesn’t last long as he holds both of your wrists with one hand and places the other back around your throat. He squeezes and shoves your head back under. You try to kick, shake, anything but it’s all so useless. You’re going to drown here held down by some stranger who thinks it’s fun to creep on people while wearing an outdated scary movie mask. Seconds away from losing consciousness, he pulls you right back up. You sputter and cough. You try to scream for help but his hand moves from your neck to your mouth, dampening any noise. 

“Ah, I see, you won’t talk movies with me, but you don’t mind screaming for help?” 

Your eyes stare furious into the blank, dark ones underneath the mask. 

“Although, I must admit,” he said, “this is a much better view than the one from the other night.”

The mask left your face and trailed down past your naked body. 

“It’s such a shame it’ll be cold soon.”

In a flash, his hand went back to your neck and crushed. Fireworks seemed to explode around the corners of your eyes and you seized up. He released your hands and let his other hand join the first around your neck. Screaming was useless now, you knew. No sound could escape through your throat. You pushed feebly at his face and clawed at his hands. Your sight was growing dim around the edges. You were going to die alone in your apartment. No job, no lover, nothing. No one would probably find you for weeks. Probably not until you started to smell up the place. They’d find you here, swollen in your bathtub from the water, with terrible bruises around your neck. Right before you blacked out, he released his hold, causing painful coughs to explode from you as air entered quickly.

“Uh uh, not yet you don’t,” he said, “you’re going to miss the best part.”

The figure reached over the edge of the tub and pulled out a knife he had set on the floor. It was a long, hunting knife. You tried to squirm away. Tears stained your face. You tried to squeak out a plea but it was so soft from your damaged throat, you weren’t even sure he could hear it. Your arms reached out feebly. You were so weak from exhaustion. He used his free arm to pin your arms down and then pinned you further by laying his chest down against yours. 

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

Sudden brightness, fire, light, there was no true way you could describe it. A pain, you supposed, coming from your side. He had stabbed you in your stomach on the left. For some reason though, it wasn’t the terrible, horrific pain you were expecting, but a bright, blossoming fire bursting out throughout your entire body. You had already taken in a gasping breath when the blade entered you. Slowly, as you exhaled, you couldn’t help the word escaping from your lips.

“Yes.”

Ghostface sat up. His face had been right up next to yours, so he definitely heard it, but titled his head like he didn’t understand. Something in you flicked on like a light bulb. You knew you were dying slowly as your blood began to stain the water you were in, but it was wonderful. Dying was wonderful. The rush of the pain coursing all through your body was euphoric. You began laughing, as well as you could with a bruised throat. Here you were thinking that it was pathetic, dying here under some weirdo in your bathtub, but he was just lighting the way to your end, as it should be. 

Sudden movement. The figure lifted himself off of you and stared at you for a moment. In a flash you were lifted out of the tub and wrapped in a towel. 

“No, no no,” you rasped, “I need to die now, let me die.”

“No way,” the Ghostface said, chuckling, “if I can see that face every time I stab you, I’m not letting you go that easy.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days were a blur. Ghostface had injected you with something. After setting you on the bed and dressing your stomach wound, he pulled out a vial and syringe. As he measured out the dosage, he was humming the whole time.

"I don't usually get to use this stuff," He said, "Mostly because I just kill everyone. So hopefully I'm doing this right."

You could hear the smirk under the mask. You swear you could almost see him wink at you.

"Guess we'll find out huh?"

He shoved the syringe in your arm and within moments you were out.

When you started to come to, you felt a strong, musty smell permeate your nose. You tried to reach up to block the smell, but your hand stopped short. A pair of handcuffs attached your left hand to the cot you were laying on. Quickly, your brain became sharp again and you remembered everything that had happened. You shot up in the cot and looked around feverishly. The room was dark, but you could tell it was daytime. There were small streams of light shooting through small holes in the walls ahead of you. From what you could tell, it was some dilapidated warehouse. You tried to stand but a sharp pain shot through your left side and you almost fell right over. Looking down, you see a bloody bandage around your waist.

Right, you were stabbed. The throbbing pain you were feeling now was the pain you had been expecting before when the stabbing actually happened. What was that feeling you actually had? It was, amazing from what you remember, like opening up a door after a long day of work and having your body bathed in the sunlight.

You shook your head to try and set your mind right. Your mind wasn't working properly then. You were dying and your adrenaline was just keeping you from feeling the pain. That's all it was. Dying wasn't a good thing, your brain was just lying to you so you could die in peace.

Alright, you've convinced yourself dying isn't a good thing, that means you needed to find a way out of here and get back home. You look to the handcuff that's attached you to the cot. There's no way to slip it off your hand and it's pretty solidly attached. The cot looks to be bolted into the wall, almost like the building came with it. You would have to find a way to get the handcuff off before you even thought of escape. It's pretty dark, so you don't see much looking around. Your free hand reaches around on the table next to you and you hear something clatter onto the ground. In the dim light you can make out that it's a ball peen hammer. Heart pounding in relief, you reach out to grab it. It's just barely in your reach as the tips of your fingers drag it close and then pull it into your hand. Taking a quick look at the handcuffs, you think maybe the best bet would be the chain holding the handcuffs together. You place it across the table next to you and swing down on it.

The sound of the impact ricocheting off of the walls around you was startling and instantly you regretted not thinking about the noise giving you away. You froze, waiting for angry steps or a door slamming open. Time freezes and you don't dare move for what seems hours. Nothing changed, no noises. You took a deep breath. If he was here, he would have heard that. He must not be. You lifted the hammer again and brought it back down. Using as much force as you could, you slammed the hammer into the chain over and over again. There wasn't so much as a dent or scratch on it. You pulled yourself off of the cot and pulled the chain tight. This time you were aiming for the mechanism on the cuff holding you to the cot. No matter how much you attacked it, nothing seemed to happen. You plopped down on your butt in frustration. Tears were already welling up in your eyes. The anger was building in you and you shot back up. You slammed the hammer into the chain over and over, screaming out your frustration as you did. Suddenly, a miss brought the hammer right down on your hand. The hammer dropped and you reached over to your hand. It stung like crazy and you could already tell it was going to bruise.

That's when a horrible idea sprung up in your mind. The metal wasn't going anywhere, but your flesh would definitely move. If you broke your hand with the hammer, you could slip the handcuff over your wrist. Your hand was already throbbing where you hit it and the idea of slamming the hammer into it again was not something you were excited about. You tried really hard to pull it off without smashing your hand but it was no good. Honestly, as you looked at it now, you didn't think even smashing your hand would give you the ability to slip it off. You had to try though right?

You glanced around desperately for anything else that would help, maybe something you could pick the lock with. No luck. You settled your hand on the table and looked over it. It was already turning a purplish hue. You figured your best bet was to smash right above the wrist by your thumb. If you broke your thumb, you might be able to squish the handcuff up around your wrist. You steadied your mind and held the hammer above your head. You needed to not hold back, it would make it harder the more you had to hit it. Just one, solid, hard slam. You closed your eyes for a second, trying to kill that part of your brain that held back in times like this to stop you from hurting yourself. Opening your eyes you let out a yell and brought the hammer down onto your hand. You heard a crunch and stars shot out over your eyes. You cried out and dropped the hammer onto the floor. Grasping at your hand you clutched it to your chest and slipped down to the ground.

With tears streaming down your face you tried to slip the cuff up over your hand but even touching it was unbearable. The cuff still wouldn't move past your hand. You looked at the hammer on the ground and knew there was no way you could bring yourself to hit it again. Your hand was already swelling up, making it bigger than it was before, completely ruining the purpose.

Suddenly from behind you there was a quiet, but purposeful laugh. You freeze, the pounding in your hand seemed to dull as your heart started beating out of your chest.

"That was hilarious."

A dark figure emerged from the shadows. He was there the whole time, watching you. He knelt down beside you, still wearing that Ghostface mask. His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. You let a cry escape your throat as the pain ran through your whole arm. He brought it up to his mask to get a better look at it. How he could see anything in this room with a mask on was beyond you.

"I can't believe you tried to break your hand to pull it out of the cuff," his voice was full of ridicule and laughter, "Looks like all you managed to do was fuck it up."

Ghostface put his hand around yours and squeezed. You cried out, the lights that had appeared when you first hit it returned and you thought you might throw up. Ghostface released you. He turned away, and grabbed the hammer off the ground. With his free hand he grasped your wrist again and placed it against the table.

"Come on," he raised the hammer above his head and his voice grew louder with each word, it became wild, "Let me help you finish what you started!"

He brought the hammer down and you screamed out in desperate protest. The hammer crashed onto the table inches from your hand.

"No?" he asked, his voice level again, "but I thought you wanted to get out of here? It'll only work if you smash the bones in your hand into tiny pieces so you can shove it through the cuff right? Don't you want to escape?"

"Please," you sob, "Don't."

"You don't want to leave?" Ghostface jerked your hand back and put his mask close to your face, "You sure looked like you did."

"Please, don't. Please."

Ghostface released your hand and started pacing around the room.

"I know this place isn't super fancy or anything," he started, "But damn, I didn't think you'd try to gnaw your own hand off to escape. That hurts my feelings."

You wanted to tell him that him and his feelings could go take a flying leap off a fucking skyscraper, but the pain in your hand was all you could focus on. Through your tears you shot a hateful glare towards your captor.

"Oh come on doll," he said, crouching back down to you, "what happened to that look you gave me the first night we met? Can't we get that spark back again?"

"Fuck you," you manage through the pain.

"Oh, so that's how it's going to be," he said, rolling his head back and then shooting it forward again, "You're just going to piss me off!"

He grasped your hand again, unrelenting. You heard yourself scream, but the pain blocked out your vision and you were gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to see what Ghostface's outfit looks like in better detail. Just google "Ghostface Dead by Daylight." I'm basically imagining the same outfit he has in that game.

Something smelled amazing. Your eyes opened and you were greeted with the soft sunlight flowing into your apartment window. You heard movement in the kitchen and you pulled yourself out of bed to investigate. Your partner was fixing up some breakfast and brewing coffee. 

“Hey there,” they said, chucking you a smile, “good morning sleepy head.”

“What are you making?” You ask, smiling back.

“Just coffee and toast,” they say as they poured a cup, “Trying to get a jump start on today.”

For a split second, the brightly lit apartment was dark and your partner’s coffee mug was smashed onto the floor, but then everything was back.

“Are you alright?” They asked, concerned, “You made a strange face there for a second.”

“I’m fine,” you lie, trying to shake it off, “What’s the plan for today?”

They talk but your hearing seems off, as if they’re speaking at you through water. You can’t understand anything they’re telling you. You close your eyes to tried and shake it off but when you looked back up you were actually submerged in water. Your panic grew and you tried to reach out towards your partner. Their smile disappeared and now they were staring at you with no expression. The apartment shifted back to darkness and this time your partner’s face is covered in blood. The scene shifted back to daylight again and the blood is gone, but the emotionless eyes were still glaring into you.

You tried to scream out to them, but bubbles are the only things coming out of your mouth. The vision in front of you kept flashing between dark and light, bloody face and none. 

“What happened?” They say, their voice not really forming a question, “What happened to you, what happened to me?”

You try to force your way out of this strange water but you can’t budge. It makes no sense at all, why is this formless water holding you back in your own kitchen? What is happening?

“You got taken right?” your partner asks as they reach towards you, their hands gripping your arms, “why don’t you just let them kill you? Then you can be dead…”

The scene shifted again to the darkness and your partner pulled their face past the water barrier. Blood swirled past you as they brought their face close to yours. As they spoke, you could hear them clearly as if there was no water impeding them.

“...Just like me.”

You screwed your eyes shut, refusing to look at the face your partner was making any longer. You felt a strong pressure in your chest like you couldn’t breathe. Your eyes shot back open and for a second you didn’t see anything but darkness. You still felt pressure on top of you, but your mind started to put itself back together. You were waking up. From the smell, you could tell you were still in the warehouse. What was on top of you?

Your heart stopped as you felt the mass began to move and that stupid mask took up your full vision.

“Ah, you’re awake, I’m so glad,” he said, “waiting for you to wake up is so boring. I was thinking of trying some stuff to wake you up myself.”

You wriggled, trying to get him off, but you felt incredibly weak and you realized you probably haven’t eaten anything in over twenty-four hours. 

“Now come on,” his voice was low. He pulled out a knife and placed it against your collarbone, “If you wiggle too much I might accidentally cut something I don’t mean to.

He let the blade dip softly into your skin and you felt a prick and a trickle of blood flow down to the back of your neck. You let out a soft hiss of pain as he did so.

“I wasn’t kidding about what I said earlier,” he continued, “I want that look back again. I wonder if I have to stab you again to get it, or if there’s more to it than that.”

You felt him move and could see that he was lifting himself up a bit. He was pretty much in the same pose he was in when he had you pinned in the bathtub. His hand drifted down to your waist where your stab wound was and his hand lightly grazed it. You winced, expecting him to grab it or push on it, but he didn’t. He just lightly brushed over it a few times.

“I got you in a good spot,” he said after a pause, “it wasn’t really a deadly wound as long as the bleeding is stopped, but there aren’t a lot of those spots in your abdomen if I want a really good stab.”

As he said “stab,” he lunged forward a bit as if he was going to do just that. You gasped and tried to move back as much as possible. The knife stopped inches from your belly button and Ghostface let out a chuckle.

“You’re so easy to startle,” he mocked.

The blade was pressed against your stomach and you felt a small bead of pain as it cut into you. He didn’t cut deep, this was another superficial wound, just like the one by your collarbone. The cut may have been small, but he was going so slow and you could feel the pain move from point “A” to point “B” on the line he was making. After ages, he lifted the blade back up. You could see your blood drip from it. Your shirt was already pushed halfway up, revealing your midsection, but Ghostface used the blade of the knife to try and push it up higher.

“Stop!” you cried out and tried to wiggle out again.

Ghostface reached out and grabbed your hair roughly, pulling you back.

“Really?” he laughed, “I already saw you completely naked in your tub. I have a knife to your gut, but you’re worried about me oogling your breasts?”

He threw your head back and pain shot out as it slammed into the metal of the cot. You felt his hand trace down from your collar bone to your breast and squeezed it.

“This really bothers you more than the knife?” he asked, his voice full of mockery, “such a shame, it’s actually quite a pleasant sensation for me.”

You try to look away, but he pressed his knife against your cheek and tilted your face back towards him. His other hand continued to grope your chest. Despair clouded your mind and you screwed your eyes shut. You felt a pressure against your lower torso where he was pinning you down. You started to feel sick as you realized he was getting a hard-on.

“No stop!” you cried out. You tried to shout more but his hand stopped groping you and shot towards your neck, closing your passageway. Your free hand reached up to grab it, but like before you are unable to pry his fingers off of you.

He pressed his hips into yours and tightened his grip.

“I could have you right now,” he said, “I could take you over and over and in any way I wanted to and there would be nothing you could do about it. I could do whatever I wanted to you and you can’t stop me.”

He reared back, taking his hand away from your throat. You let out a sharp cough as air entered freely into your lungs. Somewhere above you Ghostface hit a switch and lights blinded you. When your eyes adjusted you could see the whole room, but mostly you were focused on the multiple cameras that surrounded you from every angle.

“But all that I want,” he continued, “Is for you to make that face again!”

He gripped your throat again and brought the knife straight down into your shoulder. You felt the same bright fire shoot through your body and light up every single atom. Even the tears streaming down your face felt hot. Not being able to control yourself, you let out a deep moan. It was happening again. You could feel the blood well up and begin to leave your body. Ghostface yanked the knife out and it felt like the fire was going to explode from your body.

“Yes, that’s it!” from what seemed to be light years away you could hear Ghostface’s glee and the clicking of apertures.

The fire was building in you and you knew you couldn’t let it go. Your hand shot out, taking Ghostface by surprise. You grabbed him by the neck with your free hand and slammed him into the wall. You felt the blood flowing freely from you, but it didn’t matter, the fire was burning you from the inside out, giving you strength, and it would consume you soon. You heard the knife clatter to the floor.

“Finish it!” you shouted, eyes wide, “Do it!”

“You are crazy,” Ghostface said with what you thought was delight in his voice.

With both of his hands he flipped you back underneath him, slamming you back into the cot. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a syringe. He quickly unsheathed the needle and shoved it into your neck. You could feel the liquid entering your body, snuffing out the fire that had been raging within. The world around you became blurry.

Your consciousness faded in and out as Ghostface got off of you and walked off to get the items to dress your new wound. With all of the bright lights you could get a good look at his outfit now. It was leather, quite the getup. It was a long cloak that went down to his calves but split at the waist, giving him full range of movement. He was wearing dark pants and boots as well. Even his gloves were black leather. As he began to roughly dress your wound, you let out a slight scoff.

“What?” he asked.

“Where’d you get that outfit? Hot Topic?” you asked, laughing a bit. Whatever he had put in that syringe made your tongue very loose.

He pulled on the bandage a bit, which might have hurt if you weren’t so high.

“Nah doll,” he replied, “Made it myself.”

“Ah, so you’re one of them Cosplayers,” you say, your words slurring so badly you’re surprised he even understood you.

“Laugh it up all you want doll,” he said, “You’ll have served your purpose soon enough. Then I won’t need you anymore.”

You could feel the world finally fading into nothing again.

“Good.”


	5. Chapter 5

You expected another dream about your partner. It had been so real and vivid after your attack. However, nothing but darkness and hunger filled your every thought. You remembered visions of light and movement, but not much more. The next time you awoke, you were in a different place entirely. No longer in the warehouse, but a mostly white room. You were chained up by your leg to the wall. The chain was quite long, allowing you to move around the room more freely. There was a rather comfortable chair set up in the middle of the room along with a small blanket it the corner where you could lay down. Just out of your reach was some camera equipment. Beyond the camera equipment you could see a sectioned-off part of the room that had computers and counter space. Maybe some sort of place to edit the photos? This room was definitely set up like some sort of twisted studio. After you had been up and walking around the room you heard a door shut from beyond the sectioned-off part of the room and Ghostface entered, carrying a bag of fast food.

"Here," he said as he tossed the bag at you, "If I don't want you to die yet, I suppose I ought to feed you something."

The smell coming from the bag made you forget any sort of aversion you had to fast food burgers and you demolished the meal given to you in minutes.

"God damn," Ghostface mocked, "didn't expect you to pig out so much over it."

He left rather quickly and didn't bother to say anything else. Over the next few days, he came in at random times with food and every time you were afraid he'd do more than just that. You couldn't really tell if days or months were passing you by. He was quite hands off for a while and you were wondering if he was growing bored of you. Had he really gotten all he needed out of you from those photos he had taken last time? Would he really need more? You expected the answer to those questions was yes, since he took you to this new location after all. It was a lot nicer.

One day, you woke up to your own voice. As you glanced up, you saw Ghostface watching something on a television with his back to you. It was the last time he stabbed you. From behind Ghostface, he had set up a video camera during the whole thing and captured the attack. You winced as you were forced to relive the stabbing. Instinctively, your hand reached up to the wound on your shoulder. It was still there, still deep. Suddenly the energy of the attack changed. Your face was like stone as you sat up and threw Ghostface into the wall. It didn't look like you at all, it looked like some sort of monster.

"FINISH IT," you demanded in the video, "DO IT."

Listening to yourself is so strange. Your voice doesn't sound at all like you imagine it. So forceful and alien, just like the face you are making. Ghostface paused the video and slowly turned to look at you.

"Do you see what you are capable of?" he asks as he stands, "Such a domineering pose you take. So much strength."

You don't feel strong as your body shrinks away from him in the corner.

"You like the new place?" he asks, holding his arms up, "I've been working on it for a while. Ever since I picked you up. I thought you might require a location, just to film our special interactions."

He was so close now. He bent down and reached a hand out to your cheek, caressing it slightly.

"A place just for us," he continued, "to play our games."

You say nothing, allowing your glare to fill in the blanks for you.

"Oh, come on," he sneers, "you can't tell me you're not enjoying this as much as I am."

He looks back to the screen with you on it and flicks a hand forward. With a remote in his hand he rewinds the tape back to the moment you were stabbed and pauses it. Your face is embarrassingly close to the ones you would make in the throws of passion. There is nothing but joy and love in your eyes at that moment. You hated him for it.

"I mean, look at that!" he scoffs, "you are seriously sending me some mixed signals that I do not appreciate!"

He lets the tape move forward a few seconds and your face changes to that of pure rage as you are reaching out to throw him into the wall.

"And this!" he shouts, "I haven't seen anything like this! It would be one thing if you were angry at me for hurting you, but you're not! You're angry at me for not finishing you off."

You looked away. You wanted to yell, scream and tell him he was wrong, but he wasn't. He was absolutely correct. No matter how fucked up it was, you loved being hurt and had become very angry when he wouldn't just kill you. Trying to rectify that to yourself was becoming very difficult. No one in their right mind should be angry at someone for not killing them, and no one should be happy to be fatally injured. You couldn't shake it, there was something horribly wrong with you.

Shame filled your entire being. You curled your knees up to your chest and put your head down. Ghostface reached out and put a finger on your chin, lifting it up, causing your eyes to meet.

"Don't look so down doll," he said, "Don't be ashamed, embrace it, and I will lead you on a glorious path to death."

Your heart jumped, and you hated it for doing so.

Ghostface reached down and roughly grabbed a handful of your hair. He lifted you up by it and you cried out. Reaching up to grab his hands, you move along with him to keep him from ripping the hair right out of your scalp. He led you to the television set up and shoved your face into it.

"So, obviously, you are desperate for death," he said as you struggled to pull your face away from his grasp, "which means I don't want to kill you yet. It's not as fun when someone wants to die. Plus, I feel like we can get a whole artistic study out of these faces you make when you are close to death. Could be my masterpiece, so I definitely don't want that to slip through my fingers."

He lifted you up and away from the television, grabbing you from behind in a strange embrace. One arm was wrapped around your middle, pinning your arms to your sides. His other hand lightly gripped your neck.

"You know how riled up you got me last time right?" he asks, almost whispering into your ear, "I don't usually get so turned on during these sort of things."

The hair stood up on your neck and you feel nauseous.

"I'm not one of those Ted Bundies or Kempers," he continued, holding you against him, "my crimes have never been sexually motivated. I do some stalking, torment people a bit and then eventually sneak in and just kill them. Everything about you has me feeling so different. You feel it right? This sick connection between us?"

You try to squirm away from his grasp but it's solid, and the more you try to move away, the more your body presses against his and the tighter his grasp gets.

"No," you whispered. But as you say it, it sounds more like you are denying the truth, not that you disagree.

Ghostface spun you around and pressed his mask against your face.

"Don't argue with me!" he says, his tone sharp, "It's like you're making me out to be a liar. I hate that."

He kicked your legs out from under you and you felt him land on top of you, knocking the air from your lungs. Instinctively, you fight back, throwing your legs and arms about, trying to get him off of you. Ghostface pulled the knife from his breast pocket and stabbed it down into the floor right next to your neck. You immediately froze.

"Do you keep forgetting what's going on here?" his voice had completely changed from the calm tone to a frustrated one, "You belong to me now. There's no point in arguing or fighting."

His leather glove tightened around your throat again as he lowered himself down.

"I do kind of like the fighting though," his tone was calm again, a small laugh lingering on the end of his sentence. He was so all over the place. You could never tell if he was actually angry or just messing with you. The idea that he literally jumps from actually being angry to being calm was a more terrifying thought than him just messing with you, but you got the feeling that if you pushed it to try and find out, his anger might just overflow and that would be the end.

His free hand began to explore around your body. With one hand around your neck and the cold steel of the knife lightly caressing your shoulder, you tried not to squirm against it. You glanced at the knife, but it looked solidly planted into the wooden floor right beside your head. It would take a few pulls to get it loose and you didn't think you could pull it out at this angle you were currently at.

Ghostface stopped and pulled himself up, but left the knife embedded in the floor. He put one finger up to the mask, as if telling her to be quiet.

"Be a good girl, don't move, I need this to be perfect."

He reached down and tugged the short pajama pants down, revealing your bare legs and underwear. Your body was shaking, from the fear or chill you weren't sure, but it took all of your strength to sit still. Ghostface stood above you and pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He held it above you and started taking pictures.

"This is pretty hot," he said, "It's missing something though."

He stopped taking photos and tilted his head. After a moment he let out a soft laugh.

"Oh I know what," he said. He lifted his foot and placed it on your chest.

You felt as though he was actually going to crush your ribs under his boot. Your hands reached up and pressed against it, trying to keep him from pressing in any further. His foot started to slide you up against the knife that was planted in the floor. You let out a hiss through your teeth as you feel the blade cut into you.

"That's better," he said as he began to take more pictures, "The blood really makes this composition. And the pain in your eyes."

You began punching at his leg, trying to get him to stop pushing you up into the knife. Desperately you reach back and try to pull it from the floor. To your surprise, you feel the knife give way a bit. With a sudden rush of anxiety, you grab it with both hands and manage to wrench it free of the floor. You swipe it at Ghostface's leg and he hops off of you, just out of the way. You try to take advantage of this surprise and leap up at him. He grabs your wrists but your momentum forces him against the wall. He lets out a grunt as his back slams into the concrete. He spins you around and slams you into the wall as well.

"You really want to do this?" he asks, huffing, "think about it genius. Even if you do manage to kill me, what do you think you'll do then?"

Your only response is to yell and kick him in the stomach, pushing him away from you. His grip remains on your wrists so he pulls you along with him. He trips over the chair and lands hard with you on top of him. You are still struggling to get the knife home.

"You're attached to the wall idiot," he says mockingly, "I don't have the key with me, I keep it out of reach. If you kill me, you will die in here after you starve to death."

Your brain clicks and you glance back to the chain attached at your ankle. Your pajama pants were still wrapped around the chain as well. He was right. If he didn't have the key on him, you would have no way to escape. During this brief realization, you dropped your guard. Ghostface took full advantage of this by slamming his fist into your face. Stars shot out and you heard the knife clatter to the floor. He grabbed it and quickly hopped up. With one fluid motion, he tossed it behind him and it sliced into the wall, far away from your reach.

"Aw look," he said, kneeling down to take your chin in his hand, "Now you've got a nasty bruise all over this side of your face. I can't decide if that'll ruin or improve your photos from here on out."

With his free hand he picked his cell phone back up off the ground and thrust it in your face. He took a few photos and then shoved you back onto the floor.

"Hm, it is a look," he said as he put the phone back into his breast pocket, "I think that's enough excitement for one day though, don't you?"

You had stopped looking at him and was focusing on slowly pulling your pajama pants back up around your legs. He stomped back over to you, reached down and grabbed the pants. With a quick yank, he ripped the fabric off of you and the chain as well. The pants were in tatters as he stood back up and tossed them to the floor. 

"Why don't we just get rid of these?" he asked, "maybe that'll teach you a lesson."

With a cruel laugh, Ghostface left the room and you could hear a heavy metal door being shut beyond your vision. You glanced back to your pajama pants, completely destroyed in a pile on the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Hope you all enjoy.

"What do you think Little?"

Officer Little felt as though his frown was permanently plastered onto his face. They were looking around your apartment. He was worried after he hadn't heard from you in a couple of days and had made his way to the apartment to check on you. When there had been no answer, he got worried. A quick look at your door had shown signs of forced entry and he immediately called for backup and they were in the midst of investigating the apartment.

It was too clean, he knew that much. Especially the bathroom. Almost as if it was professionally done. Some of your clothes were missing, but your phone was still on your nightstand. Little would have known if you were planning on leaving, but you hadn't mentioned anything. The forced entry was already enough to let him know something was going wrong but everything else was adding up to back up that fear.

"Didn't their partner disappear too?" One of the other officers asked.

"Yes, that's why I knew something was up," he replied, "they usually call at least once a day."

"Do you think the same person who was responsible for the partner missing came back for them too?"

"I don't know," Little said, his frown deepening, "This whole thing just stinks to high heaven."

He was in the bathroom at that moment, glancing at the bathtub. Something wasn't right about it. It was scrubbed out and smelled very strongly of ammonia. The more he looked at it, the more he noticed the small rings at the bottom of the tub. He knelt down to take a closer look.

"A bathmat," he whispered to himself.

"Huh?"

"There was a bathmat here. Someone took it out. Quick, take a look around for it!"

"Yessir!"

Little quickly made his way outside to the dumpster by the apartments. He was thinking maybe the perpetrator tossed it. He glanced inside and his stomach dropped. The dumpster was completely empty. It must have just been taken by the city.

"Sir," one of the officer stuck his head back outside of the door, "We've found it."

Back inside, the officer motioned to the washing machine. There was a bathmat rolled up inside of it. Carefully, Officer Little pulled the mat out and unrolled it. All along the back end of the rubber suction cups were red stains.

"We need to get this examined immediately," Little said, "And we need to get the full lab over here to sweep the entire apartment. Now."

You had the distinct impression that you were still asleep. Waking up was always so strange, not really remembering where you were or what happened to you last. As your eyes opened, you found yourself in your old apartment. It was dark, but the hallway light crept in through your doorway.

"You awake?"

You turn your face to the person in your bed. Your partner. They were up and looking at you.

"Yeah, I guess," you say as you lay back down.

"You still alive then," they say, "I'm surprised."

You shoot them a look.

"What?" they ask, "You seem to have wanted to die right away. Why are you hanging on?"

"What kind of question is that?" you ask, "Pretty fucked up."

"I dunno," they said, "It seems kind of fair to me. After everything that happened."

You sit up in bed and look at them.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

They sigh and roll over to look away from you.

"One of these days you're going to have to stop this denial shit and face up to what you did. It's really exhausting for me," they said.

"Exhausting for you?" you yell, "I'm not exactly living the dream right now you know. I'm tied up to a fucking wall."

"Right."

Your partner pulls away from you and the blankets reveal the bed underneath them. Why was there blood all over it?

You blinked and they were gone. You were back in the room. You had fallen asleep with your back against the wall apparently. Was your dream-partner right? Should you just give up and die? It was easier said than done. You knew Ghostface didn't want to kill you off yet. But maybe there's a way you could get him to lose interest? He enjoys it when you fight back, so maybe if you just let him do whatever he wanted and dead weight every time, he would lose interest.

The loud noise of the door opening let you know that your chance to test it was here. You tried to stay still despite the pounding in your chest. He was whistling happily as he tossed a bag of fast food on the table in the computer room.

"I got you something extra tasty today," he said, "you can have it after we've had our photo shoot."

You didn't acknowledge him. You kept your vision trained in front of you and didn't budge. He walked over to you and knelt down. He tilted his head at you and brushed some of your hair out of your face.

'You going to be good today?" he asked in a soothing voice, "Good. That'll make this easy."

He pulled something leather out of his pocket and reached for your neck. Your body tensed up as he strapped a collar around your neck. He pulled it just tight enough to make you uncomfortable but not tight enough to choke you. He closed the latch on the collar and wrapped his hand around it. He roughly pulled you up by your neck and took you over to the middle of the wall. The wall had a ring sticking out of it. It looked like one of those screws with a ring on the end that you use to hang plants. The back of the collar must have some sort of clip on it because he clipped your collar to the ring. It was uncomfortable and claustrophobic.

"I'm glad that works so well,' he said, "I measured it but I wasn't sure if it would be at the right height."

You keep your hands at your sides and don't say anything. You want to scream and try to rip the collar off of the wall, but you keep your calm and show no emotion. Maybe if you bore him, he'll finally be through with you.

"Interesting," he said, putting his hand to his chin. It looked like he was contemplating what to do with your non-reaction, "this might work."

Ghostface when back to the computer room and grabbed his camera. He came back and got a few shots. He paced back and forth while he looked over the shots he took.

"No, this isn't good enough," he said to himself. He glanced back at you and you flinched a bit. He reached out and grabbed your face.

"We need something here," he said thoughtfully.

Without even giving you the chance to blink, he pulled his hand back and punched you right in the mouth. The back of your head banged against the wall and you almost lost consciousness. The world got blurry and dark in places. Your head was pounding so hard you don't really notice the split lip you now have. You fumble a bit and almost lose the ability to hold yourself up. You manage to keep yourself up so that you don't choke. Ghostface immediately started taking photos as you attempted to keep yourself up.

"Now you've got a busted lip to match that bruise on your cheek," he said as he shot the photos.

Tears welled up in your eyes. Your head was pounding and you couldn't hold the tears in. Something about hitting your head like this was just too much. He took a few shots up close to your face and then turned back into the computer room. He was mumbling to himself but you couldn't really catch it with your head pounding. You still felt a bit dizzy and kept wobbling on your feet. That's when the idea struck you. Why hold yourself up at all? If Ghostface wouldn't kill you, why not just do it yourself and be done?

You let your feet buckle beneath you and the collar caught around your throat. You weren't sure if it was working or not. You definitely felt yourself choking, but you weren't sure if it was enough to finish the job on its own. You pulled your knees up to your body, giving extra weight against your neck. You were actually surprised the collar wasn't breaking. You started to actually asphyxiate and the corners of your vision were going dark. You did your best not to make many choking noises to alert Ghostface to your predicament.

"Come on," you thought, "please, just let this nightmare end."

The darkness closed itself in around you and you felt yourself drift off.

You weren't gone for long however. You were awoken to a horrific pain in your chest and Ghostface pounding onto it. You took a huge gasp in as your heart started back up again and you began breathing.

"Oh my god," Ghostface almost sounded apologetic, "I can't believe I almost killed you on accident. Shit."

Your mind was a whirlwind of nausea, pain and confusion.

"I didn't realize it hit you that hard," he said, his apologetic tone continued, "I didn't think it'd knock you straight out."

The headache wasn't only from the injury. He thought... did he think that he knocked you out and you choked on the collar because if it? He didn't realize you tried to kill yourself instead?

"Okay, we've got to get you a better bed now," he said, "you probably have some cracked ribs now and we wanna get those healed up as soon as possible."

What was this tone he was using? Was he scared? He actually seemed genuinely worried for your well-being. That didn't make any sense and it was kind of sickening actually. He lifted you up carefully to move you over to your blanket. Any movement still shot pain through your side, but he seemed to actually be trying to be careful. After he set you down he brought over the bag of food. As he set it down you noticed the bag looked nicer than other food he's brought in. He opened it up and set the bowl next to you. It was Poke.

"Your favorite right?" he asked. Of course, he was right. He was stalking you for a while before he took you. You can't really speak as your throat is on fire from nearly choking to death. Why was he being nice? This wasn't right at all. He knelt back down and put his hand on your shoulder.

"You better heal up nice and quick," he said, his tone still sickeningly sweet, "I've still got some horrible things I want to do to you."

With that done, he turned to leave, taking his camera out the door with him.


End file.
